


Water

by Morgan (morgan32)



Category: Hercules: The Legendary Journeys
Genre: F/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-12
Updated: 2009-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-02 06:23:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan32/pseuds/Morgan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iolaus has an adventure in a river.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Water

She had been watching them all day.

Two men, enjoying a day of leisure beside her river. She cannot be seen in daylight, so she had been relaxing in the clear water near the riverbank, drinking in the sight of the two friends, laughing at their conversation, cheering at their good-natured competition, playing, unseen, with them when they swam. Perhaps three times during the day the taller of the two men had glanced in her direction, causing her to dive away in fright, although she knew he wouldn't see her there. No mortal could.

It was the other, though, who interested her. His hair was the colour of the sun, his eyes the blue of her river. His laughter was as merry as hers, and he laughed often. Once, when he and his friend raced in the river, he had swum straight toward her, and as he splashed past she felt — all too briefly — the heat of his body.

As evening fell, she fled to the bulrushes on the opposite bank of the river, hiding among them. The two men had lit a fire, and dined on baked fish — the gifts of her river — still talking, and laughing together. A full moon climbed into the sky, turning the river to molten silver, and both men spread out blankets and lay down, sleep claiming them.

This was what she had been waiting for.

She swam out from her hiding place and crept onto the bank, a delicious thrill of fear in her heart as she left the sanctuary of the water. She barely glanced at the tall man. The other, the golden one, was sleeping. She stretched out beside him on the grass. His features, relaxed in sleep, revealed his fun-loving nature: he wore a smile even then. She was tempted to touch, but restrained herself.

She peeked into his mind. She knew how to do this, could find what she needed without difficulty. Ah, there it was…the image of a woman, someone who had meant something to him. She coaxed the image into his attention, into the landscape of his dreams. The memory took hold readily; she could feel the change in his emotions as he replayed the experience in his sleep.

Sinking into the feelings, finally she could give in to impulse. One slender hand reached out to caress the silken curls of his hair. She leaned into him, feeling his hard body against the length of hers, his masculine heat searing her coolness. She bent her head, risking the kiss.

The image in his mind was so strong. What was it, this joining of flesh to flesh, that men desired it so?

Her cool lips brushed his…and he woke.

Startled, she fled instantly, back to the river. But she didn't run far, or for long. Drawn back to him by a need she could not understand, and by curiosity, which she could, she swam back to the riverbank, peering out of the water to where he lay.

He was sitting up, gazing at her with frank curiosity, his eyes taking in her silver hair, her youthful appearance, her skin too pale to be mortal, her eyes deep pools of unknown desire.

"What do you want?" he asked her.

She sent him an image in answer. The picture of the thing she had sought: a kiss. He took the image and changed it, showed her what a kiss could lead to. Then he sent the image back as a question. She hadn't known a mortal could do that. He rose from his blanket and moved toward her. "What do you want?" he asked again, close enough to her now that she could touch him if she chose. If she dared.

She cupped her hands and lifted water to his lips. He drank from her hands, the touch of his lips sending a shiver of anticipation through her. She trickled the rest of the water over his chest, trails of silver in the moonlight. She moved closer, bringing her lips to his chest, kissing, drinking where the water still clung to his skin. She followed that trail of water downward, feeling him tremble beneath the light, tentative caresses of her lips and tongue. His hands reached for her hair, guiding her further and further down.

Then he knelt beside her, bringing his face level with hers. He tilted her chin up and looked deep into her eyes. He kissed her on the lips, gently at first, like the chaste picture she'd sent him, then with more passion, crushing her body against his.

She wore no clothing; her kind had no use for it. His hands flowed over her body…the gentle curves of her back, her buttocks, the firm flesh of her thigh. He released her, and she watched as he stripped off his clothing: the ragged vest, the leather trousers. And he reached down and gathered her into his arms, carrying her the few paces back to his blanket.

His mouth found hers again, his tongue questing between her lips, tasting, exploring. She responded tentatively, then with hunger. He left her mouth and explored her neck, now kissing, now nibbling at the soft skin, now tasting, leaving wet trails across her neck and shoulders. A light breeze played across her skin and she shivered, but with pleasure, not with cold. His hand reached for her breast, the skin of his palm callused from years of bearing a sword, her own skin smooth and soft as water. He felt the nipple harden beneath his fingers and bent lower to take it in his mouth.

A gasp of delight escaped her lips: the first sound she had made. Needing no further encouragement, he suckled at her breasts, first one, then the other, his tongue playing with her nipples. She held his head to her breasts, her fingers entwined in his golden hair, and arched her back. She was moaning her pleasure, and he thrilled to her response.

His hand slid lower, across her flat belly and slender hips to gently part her legs. She opened to him eagerly, and as his fingers touched that secret place he felt the sudden hot fluids of her readiness and had to stop, fighting for control.

She felt him pause, felt the warm hardness of him against her thigh and leaned toward him, wanting to enfold that magical organ. His hand between her legs began to move, parting her folds, a finger slipping inside her. And then she felt him touch the centre of her pleasure. She cried out with the unexpected sensation; he muffled the sound with his lips, kissing her deeply, his tongue a thread of fire in her mouth. His fingers rubbed faster and she began to move with him, her hips bucked and she clung to him.

His lips were on her breast again, suckling hard. The pleasure was unbearable; she would die from it. She leaned down to kiss him, pulling him to her as she teetered on the edge. As the surging wave of her orgasm broke, she bit into his shoulder, the only way she could keep from crying out.

He held her to him as she came, the brief pain in his shoulder giving him the measure of control he so badly needed. He guided her hand to his hard, eager manhood, felt her fingers enclose it. He groaned with desire as she began to stroke his maleness; her light touch was exquisite torture. He rolled over to kneel between her legs, reaching up to kiss her again. The tip of his penis rested against her folds for a moment, tentative, teasing.

Her eyes opened, met his and she sent him another image, pleading, begging. He pushed into her slowly and her body welcomed him eagerly. He bent his head to her breasts again as he began to thrust. He withdrew from her almost completely and thrust again, revelling in her embrace. She matched his rhythm, her passion rising again to meet his.

The river was forgotten, now. All her world was him: the heat of him, the taste of him. The delicious feel of him moving inside her, inflaming her lust, her need. The climax broke over her in waves, one after the other, as if it would never stop, and she pressed her mouth into his neck, muffling her cries. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist, heard his groan of pleasure in response. One more thrust, long and deep, and she felt the delicious spurt of warmth as his seed spilled into her.

He lay there, unmoving, part of him still within her, his sweat and hers mingling on the blanket beneath them. He kissed her, more gently this time, and held her close, burying his face in her silver hair.

After a few moments he rolled off her, lying on his back and pulling her against him, so their sated bodies touched along their lengths. She pillowed her head on his shoulder, offering him a last image, of the river at dawn.

"I don't understand," he told her.

She propped herself up on her elbow, sending the image again. He frowned. She shrugged and gave up, leaning down to kiss him again. He chuckled softly. "What do you want?" he asked her. It had a different meaning now.

She reached down to touch the organ that had given her so much pleasure. She rose slowly, her naked body shining in the moonlight. He seemed to understand and allowed her to lead him into the water.

***

Dawn broke over the river, the first rays of the sun turning the waters to gold. On the riverbank, two men slept beside an almost burnt-out campfire. From the other side of the water, she watched. She cannot be seen in daylight.

The taller of the two men woke with the dawn, rose and took a drink from the river. He shook his friend awake. "Wake up, Iolaus. We've got a long way to go today."

Iolaus woke slowly, sat up groggily. His medallion lay on the grass at the edge of the river. Neither man mentioned it.

"Sleep well, Iolaus?" the taller man asked, with an innocence that may be real, may be feigned.

"Uh…yeah." Iolaus grins to himself as he tells the inevitable lie. "Herc? We're not in that much of a hurry, are we?"

Hercules gave his friend a sideways glance. "You want a few more hours sleep?"

"No. I think I'd like to take a swim before we go."

Hearing this, she smiled broadly. She cannot be seen by daylight. But she can be touched.


End file.
